


Treading Water

by flowerfan



Series: Here Comes The Sun [4]
Category: Glee
Genre: Angst, Canon character death (Finn), Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-24
Updated: 2014-05-24
Packaged: 2018-01-26 08:27:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1681538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerfan/pseuds/flowerfan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A one-shot in the Here Comes The Sun ‘verse.  It’s been about a year since the bus accident which took Finn’s life and seriously injured Blaine, and Kurt is barely holding on.  A companion piece to Photographs and Memories (Blaine’s POV during the same time period).  Set before the events of Here Comes The Sun, where Blaine and Kurt run into each other in NYC two years after the accident.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Treading Water

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for mention of Finn's death, hospital scenes, depression.

Spring 2014

Kurt dragged the loft door closed and hobbled inside. His ankle was aching from a badly timed move at dance rehearsal, and the trip home on the subway had seemed endless. He eased himself down on to the couch, trying not to think about the reading for his playwriting class that still needed to be done before he could turn his brain off for the night. Removing his boot, Kurt gingerly poked at his foot, trying to assess the damage, when an unexpected memory tugged at his mind – Blaine, coming home with him after an exhausting Glee club rehearsal, his smile as sure as his touch as he gently examined Kurt’s sore knee, planting little kisses up and down his leg to make it better. Blaine bringing him an ice pack and a fragrant cup of tea, and tucking blankets around him on the couch as they settled in to watch a movie, a comforting, steady presence against his side. Blaine earnest and open, loving and present. His old Blaine, his lover, his best friend. A Blaine that no longer existed.

Kurt let himself think back to the last few times he had seen Blaine, in the hospital and the rehab facility, so sad and distant. Last October Kurt had flown home for a long weekend, dividing his time between his dad and Blaine, the hurt of Finn’s death that constantly swirled around inside him even stronger when he was in Lima, coming in waves that swamped his ability to think, to breathe. Blaine had hardly seemed to care about his visit, so absorbed in his own world of pain and despair that Kurt didn’t know how to get through to him. His right leg was wrapped in some complicated brace contraption, and from what Kurt could glean from his family, it wasn’t healing very well, despite multiple surgeries. They weren’t sure if he would ever walk again. 

Kurt spent one afternoon by Blaine’s side, trying his best to engage him in conversation. But he had a hard time finding things to talk about. He couldn’t tell Blaine about his fears for his father’s health, and how Carole was struggling with Finn’s death; that wouldn’t cheer him up. He couldn’t tell him how he and Rachel had fought, and she had left him, jetting off to L.A. without another word, leaving Kurt all alone in the city. He couldn’t tell him how some mornings he felt like there was no reason to get out of bed, and only his determination not to worry Burt further kept him moving. And he couldn’t bear to ask Blaine how he was feeling, since it was obvious that Blaine was barely hanging on, and Kurt didn’t know how to make it better. What was there to say to someone whose dreams had been dashed so thoroughly, who couldn’t even imagine where to go from here? Kurt tried to come up with funny stories from the diner – he avoided mentioning school, since Blaine was so upset about not being able to start college this year, falling even further behind Kurt – but frankly Kurt’s stories weren’t very good. Nothing seemed funny to him, anyway, and he knew from the occasional glance from Blaine that his attempts weren’t entertaining Blaine either. Kurt was at a loss. For most of the afternoon Blaine just lay there, face drawn in pain, eyes empty even when they looked back at Kurt. Everything was wrong, and he didn’t know how to make it right. 

Late that afternoon, when visiting hours were almost over for the day, Kurt couldn’t stand it anymore. Desperate to establish a connection with Blaine, Kurt climbed into the bed with him, moving slowly so as not to jostle his leg. He ignored the little snort of disapproval from Blaine and simply wrapped himself around him, his hand in Blaine’s sweaty hair, pulling him close. Kurt closed his eyes and imagined that they were somewhere else, in Blaine’s bedroom in Lima or in a new little apartment in the city, just the two of them together at last, anywhere but this horrible, sterile, inhuman hospital bed. Somewhere where they could be them again, without all the pain and the fear. He stroked his hand along Blaine’s shoulder, trying to pour his love into his touch, silently willing Blaine to respond. After a few minutes Kurt felt Blaine relax, and then nuzzle into him, burying his face in Kurt’s neck. With a little whimper, Blaine began to shake, and Kurt held him tighter. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m here. I’m here. Talk to me,” Kurt murmured, hoping that maybe Blaine would let him in. But before he knew it a nurse was there, making Kurt leave the room so that she could help Blaine with something Kurt wasn’t meant to see. Kurt managed to meet Blaine’s eyes for a moment as he reluctantly slid off the bed, and was buoyed by the hope he saw flashing there, but when he came back later that night, it was gone. The next time they saw each other, over Thanksgiving, they called off the engagement. It was a mutual decision, they agreed, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. No, this was just one more thing that Kurt Hummel couldn’t have. He was used to doing without, he was used to pain, and he would handle it. 

When Kurt got the part in the chorus of Book of Mormon, he was busier than he had ever been before, and it suited him. He had a routine, and when he stuck to it, there was logic to his day. Every hour was filled with the show, work, or school. There was no time left for mourning his lost brother or his lost love, or worrying about his parents. Burt asked him to come home to visit, but understood when he declined – not only was he too busy, but there was nothing for him in Lima any more, nothing that he could have. His career and preparation for his future were what his life was about now, and this life had nothing to do with his old one. He was good at his job - the director praised his work and kept him on even after the person he had been substituting for returned, and Kurt knew he should feel proud of his accomplishments, cast in an award winning Broadway show at only age twenty. Mostly, though, he just felt empty. Kurt knew in some part of his brain that this wasn’t healthy, but he couldn’t bring himself to care.

Weeks went by and the semester ended. Kurt signed up for more shifts at the diner, playing the part of a singing waiter as skillfully as he played a dancing Mormon teen. One rainy spring day, to his surprise, he saw Cooper come in and find a seat at a booth, craning his head as he looked searchingly around the restaurant. Kurt immediately begged off work, pleading nausea that he truly felt, and fled out the back door, his heart racing. Checking his phone, he saw three texts from Cooper, and promptly erased them without reading them. What the hell did Cooper think, coming here? Cooper wasn’t his brother. Kurt’s brother was gone, and no plastic, pointing, celebrity wanna-be could take his place. He certainly didn’t need Cooper to chastise him about how he had treated Blaine. That chapter in his life was over, and there was no going back.

Kurt became an expert at turning down the knee-jerk social invitations of his classmates, and they finally stopped asking him to join them for coffee or a night of karaoke. But then one night an electrical fire in the theater during intermission forced the cancellation of the rest of the performance, and, with his show face still firmly on, Kurt found himself agreeing to go out with a group of his fellow chorus members. He regretted it instantly, but thought it would look even stranger if he changed his mind, especially since he couldn’t claim other plans. They wound up in a gay bar comprised mostly of dark corners, which was fine by Kurt, who had no desire to be seen. He found a seat at the bar and ordered a drink, and then another. His castmates seemed surprised that he didn’t want to dance with them, but they accepted it and left him alone quickly enough. Kurt observed them flirting and playing with each other as they moved around the dance floor, effortlessly attracting followers with their polished dance moves, soon pairing up and drifting away.

As Kurt finished his second rum and coke, he noticed a tall blond man looking him up and down, and studiously ignored him. But when the broad-shouldered guy – Derek, he said his name was – offered to buy him another drink, Kurt shrugged and accepted it, wondering if the man’s sloppy haircut was a purposeful but misguided attempt at style or just plain neglect. Derek eventually wandered off when Kurt rebuked his efforts at conversation; Kurt thought he should feel offended, but he didn’t. Within a few minutes, Kurt noticed Derek dancing with a slim, dark haired man who looked like he was enjoying himself far too much for this seedy bar, and for a moment his heart flipped, thinking inevitably of Blaine. Blaine who danced like it was the best thing in the world, like the music was fueling his spirit and letting it fly free. But no, of course, this wasn’t Blaine. Blaine was back in Lima, sad and broken, not loose limbed and joyous on a dance floor in New York City. 

He tried not to let himself think about what Blaine might be doing tonight. Was he still in pain? Was he getting any better? Burt had told him that Blaine had finally come home from rehab, but Kurt hadn’t known what to say in response. He wanted to know how Blaine was doing, but he didn’t know how to ask. It wasn’t his place to know, anymore. It wasn’t his place to care. And it certainly was easier not to think about it, not to wonder if the light had come back into Blaine’s beautiful eyes. Easier not to imagine what Blaine would say if Kurt called him up, whether Blaine would even answer the phone if he did.

Later Derek approached him again, touching his arm and not seeming to notice when Kurt flinched away. “Come dance,” he said simply, and Kurt went. The alcohol was roaring in his blood and the music propelled him forward, letting him twist and turn while Derek stood behind him, hands lightly dancing over his body. A muscular arm wrapped around Kurt from behind, but he quickly pulled out of Derek’s hold, although he continued to shimmy in time with the music, near but not touching. He caught a hurt expression in the man’s eyes, and felt a flicker of shame. “What’s the matter, beautiful?” Derek asked in a low voice.

“Don’t call me that,” Kurt snapped.

“Sorry – you haven’t even told me your name.”

Kurt wondered how the man could possibly think it mattered. “Sebastian,” he said, taking a moment of pleasure in the joke. Cool, calm, uncaring. Alone. Sebastian was a fitting name for him now.

After two more drinks they were back out on the dance floor again. This time Kurt let go, swaying and grinding against the larger man. He focused on the physical sensation of Derek’s hands on his back and his waist, and the way the heat and the music made him feel. Kurt let Derek touch him and caress him, making his body throb in response. In the bathroom he moaned as Derek rutted against him, but he pushed the man’s hands away as they reached for his belt. When it was over, Derek gave him a confused look and walked out without a word. Kurt cleaned himself up and went home, back to his echoing, empty apartment. He showered, moisturized, and went into his room, pulling the privacy curtains closed despite the fact that no one was there to see in. When there was nothing left to do, Kurt got into bed, wrapped himself tightly in his blankets, and let himself dream of a time when he loved and was loved, when his life was more than just treading water.


End file.
